An Early Wake (10 page)

“What?” Maura demanded.

“I was just thinkin’ . . . How many people would you guess were here last night?”

“We weren’t counting. A couple of hundred, easy, although there was a lot of coming and going, so they weren’t all here at the same time.”

“Had they all left before you went home?”

“Yes, like I said. The musicians too. I wouldn’t walk out with people still in the pub. I’m sure the place was empty, except for Mick and me. Mick was going to clean up in back before he left.”

“And he would have noticed a dead man?”

Maura looked more closely at Sean, whose expression was serious. “Are you joking? Of course he would have.”

“Or he could have let him in after you’d gone.”

“I guess. Or the guy could have snuck in through the other doors back there. There are two of them—they open onto the balcony from outside. Maybe he was looking to rob the place after our big night. You’d know better than I would if there’s ever been a problem with theft here at Sullivan’s, but I’d guess there was never enough money on hand before to make it worth the effort, until last night.”

Maura realized she’d started to become more trusting since she’d left Boston. From what she’d seen, here in Leap nobody locked much of anything. The church was open to all comers any time of day, whether or not there was a priest on-site. More than once she’d heard the clerks at the few shops in town say, “Just leave the money on the counter.” She herself locked the front door of Sullivan’s out of habit, and because she didn’t want anybody helping themselves to her liquor—although she’d rather they walk through a door than smash a window to get at it. The night before had been a special case: she had no real idea how much money they’d taken in, but it was mostly cash, and it was a lot more than usual. That was why she’d wanted to get it out of the pub and let Mick take it home. Had she let herself be lulled into a false sense of security? Well, she’d know for sure if Mick failed to show up for work this morning, but she really didn’t think he’d run out on her. And it seemed very unlikely to her that Aidan had come back to the pub to rob it and just happened to die in his sleep.

“Was there any money missing?” Sean asked.

Maura shook her head. “No. I thought it would be stupid to leave it here, so I gave it to Mick to take home. I haven’t even looked in the cash drawer yet, but there were only some coins in there.”

Sean shrugged. “Do you have a number for Mick?”

“Just his mobile—that’s how I usually reach him.”

“And an address?”

Maura stared blankly at him. “Uh, no. I’ve never needed it. I pay him in cash, and I’ve never had to mail anything to him. I’m sure you can find it better than I can.”

“So you don’t know where he lives?”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t know where Jimmy and Rose live either, although it must be within walking distance, because Rose doesn’t have a car. I think Jimmy does.” Of course “walking distance” around here could be miles, easily. Not much help.

“Billy Sheahan—he lives down at the end, does he not?”

“Yes, he does, and has for years. But if you’re wondering if he heard anything, I doubt it. You know how thick these walls are. Maybe if somebody stopped in front of Billy’s door and had a big argument he’d notice, but not otherwise. He left long before I did last night, anyway.” Maura couldn’t even remember if she’d seen him in the back room while the music was playing or if he’d enjoyed the music from his seat in the front all night.

“Did yeh see anyone on the street when you left?”

“Not a soul. No other lights on either, except the streetlights.”

Sean paused, then finally said, “I can’t think of any more questions. I guess we’ll just wait for the others.”

Maura set down her mug carefully before looking at Sean. “I hate to ask, but do you think the guy was killed?”

“I couldn’t say, Maura. Could be he had some sort of medical condition. There’s no obvious cause, but I’m not the one to decide. We’ll be treating it as a suspicious death until we know more.”

“Really? Because I thought that as the first officer to arrive, if you decided there was no crime involved, you’d just jump to the next step and call for the ME to pick up, uh, Aidan.” It seemed unkind to call the man a “body” when he’d been breathing only hours before.

“If he’d died in his bed you’d be right,” Sean answered. “But he’s a stranger, and he’s been found somewhere he shouldn’t be, so far as I know. I’m just being careful. Don’t be alarmed.”

“Yet,” Maura muttered glumly. Sean didn’t respond.

T
he next representative of the Skibbereen gardaí—Sean’s sergeant—arrived a few minutes later. Mick arrived at the same time as the second garda and looked appropriately startled to see a police presence in front of the pub. Maura watched through the window as he gestured and pointed and seemed to argue with the uniformed officer; he looked inside and spotted her, then cocked his head, as if asking, “What the hell?”

“Can Mick come in?” Maura asked Sean.

“Of course. I want a word with him.” Sean unlocked the door to let Mick and the sergeant in, then locked the door behind them once again. Up close Maura recognized the sergeant, although she couldn’t recall having had a conversation with him.

“It’s Maura Donovan, isn’t it?” the sergeant asked. “I’m Sergeant Tony Regan—I recall we’ve met before.”

“Right. Sorry to call you out on a Sunday.”

Sean and Sergeant Regan stepped away and conferred briefly, while Mick looked a question at Maura and she hastily whispered, “Tell you in a minute.” When the gardaí returned, the sergeant said, “I’d like to examine the scene with Murphy first, if you don’t mind. Wait here.” They disappeared into the back room.

Mick went around the bar and started a cup of coffee for himself. “You all right, Maura?” he asked, watching the coffee drip from the machine. “The garda said you found a dead man in the back. Did you recognize the poor sod?”

“I did, actually.” Suddenly Maura remembered the hours Mick had spent in conversation with Aidan and the others on Friday. She added, a little more gently, “It’s that fiddler, Aidan Crowley. Niall’s friend.” Maura watched Mick’s face change.

“Aidan Crowley? Bugger.”

“Who was he?” Maura asked. “I mean, he wasn’t as famous as Niall, right?” Maybe someone had told her before, but it had flown right out of her head.

“Nah, Aidan Crowley used to be a sideman for some of the bands, but he never seemed to connect with the right one at the right time.”

“From what little I saw of him, he wasn’t young.”

“Are yeh askin’ if he was old enough for a heart attack? Or maybe if he just wore out after all those years of drugs and rock and roll?”

“Well, I guess that’s what I want to know. Won’t the gardaí want to?”

“Could be.”

“Mick, you didn’t happen to offer the guy a place to crash for the night, did you?”

He turned to her. “The thought crossed my mind, but no one asked. I can’t tell you where he or any of the others scattered to.”

Maura sighed. “I told Sean that you locked up after I went home. Hadn’t everybody cleared out by the end? Did you check the back room after I left?”

“Of course I did,” Mick said. “Checked the doors too—I know we haven’t always bothered, but some of the boys left their heavy stuff here for the night, and I didn’t want that disappearing. All the doors were locked. I turned off everything that would turn off, and then I left by the front.”

“You check the bathrooms too?”

“I did. Maura, I swear there was no one in the building when I left, unless yeh count Old Billy down in his flat at the other end of the building.”

“So how did this guy get in?”

“I can’t tell yeh. Although we both know it wouldn’t be hard to get into this place, if yeh really wanted to.”

Maura made a mental note to fix that, but this wasn’t the time. “So if no one was here when you left, Aidan must’ve come back after you’d locked up. Why do you think he’d have done that?” Had he come back here for one last hurrah with the boys? She hoped fervently that the postmortem would show that his heart had given out or something in his brain had given way—although he looked no more than sixty, which was young for either.

Mick startled her when he said, “Yer not thinking he came in to rob the place, are yeh?”

“Could be,” Maura said, “but if it was the money he was after, the coins are still here.”

“Maybe he was just looking for a place to sleep.”

“I thought that for about three seconds. Even if he had broken in to rob us, he never left the building, right? Maybe the strain of breaking in was too much for him and he had to lie down and rest.” Maura realized she was being snide, and that wouldn’t go over well with the gardaí. She’d have to watch her tongue. “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“No, it does not.”

Sergeant Regan and Sean reappeared. “We’ve found a wallet,” the sergeant said. “Like you said, the man’s name was—”

“Aidan Crowley.” Mick finished his sentence. “He first came by on the Friday, from Cork city, he said, and met up with Niall Cronin here. He was part of the music last night. Do you know yet how he died?”

Sergeant Regan shook his head. “Inconclusive,” he said, apparently relishing the word. “We’ll need a postmortem, to be sure. Nolan, is it?” he went on. Mick nodded. “Miss Donovan says you locked up last night. Was the man in the building when you left?”

“He was not,” Mick said firmly.

“Might you have been the worse for drink? It sounds as though it was a long night.”

“I’d had a glass or two, but I was managing the equipment for the show so I needed a clear head. There was no one left in the building when I locked up, and I’ll swear an oath on it.”

“And you have no knowledge of how this man might have come to be lyin’ dead in the back room?”

Maura watched the exchange and was beginning to wonder if there was some hostility between Mick and the sergeant. As far as she knew, Mick had never had any problems with the law, but then, she didn’t know a lot about his history.

“Who invited the performers?” the sergeant added, addressing Mick rather than Maura.

“Some people put the word out, is all,” Mick told him. “Nothing so formal as an invitation. You know how that happens.”

“Do any of the people who performed here live nearby?”

Mick shrugged. “I can’t say.”

“So no one knew this Crowley would be here last night?”

Maura was growing impatient. She had a business to run, and there was a dead man in the back of the house. “What are you getting at? You don’t know how he died, so why are you asking these questions? Why ask Mick?”

“Maura,” Sean began, in an apparent attempt to sound soothing, “we’re only doin’ our job. Since we can’t say how the man died, we have to treat the death as unexplained until we find out.”

“Which will take an autopsy, right? So when are your people going to get him out of here to do that? And can I open for business?”

The sergeant and Sean exchanged a glance, and finally the sergeant shrugged and addressed Maura. “Might be we should treat this as a crime scene until we know more, but it sounds like there was so much going on last night that we’d be swamped with information and no way to know what’s important. You had a couple of hundred people tramping through here, I’d wager, and half of them in the back room at any one time. It’d take all the forensic lads in the whole country to sort through the mess. So I’d say, go ahead and open.”

Maura felt a surge of relief. “Thank you! Look, if it helps, I can close off the back room. We don’t generally use it anyway—I’ll just say it’s off-limits for now. We’ll wait until we hear from you to open it up again. Fair enough?”

“That’d be grand, thank you,” the sergeant said, clearly relieved at the compromise. “I’ll wait outside for the van, Murphy.”

“Oh, one last thing: can you please take Aidan out the side door, please?” Maura asked. “Seems like it sends the wrong message to have you take a body out the front door.” In any case, if all went well, poor Aidan would be removed while Mass was going on and most people wouldn’t notice.

“I think we can manage that.”

Once the sergeant departed, Sean, Mick, and Maura were left alone in the pub, which suddenly seemed a bit darker and shabbier than it had earlier. “Interesting morning,” Maura said, her voiced edged with sarcasm. “Anybody need more coffee?”

“Please,” Mick said.

“None for me,” Sean said.

Maura set about making more coffee, then turned back to Sean. “So you really don’t know how he died?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Doesn’t matter—the outcome’s the same,” Sean told her, giving nothing away. “Tell me, Maura, who else besides you two has a key to the place?”

“Jimmy Sweeney, and his daughter, Rose. Maybe Billy Sheahan—heck, for all I know the key to his door fits all the doors in the place. It’s an old building. I can’t say who else Old Mick might have given a key, for one reason or another. Does it matter?”

“It might. The dead man had a key in his pocket that opens yer back door.”

S
ean’s statement left Maura speechless. She knew that security in the building was a joke, but she’d never had any reason to use the back doors—she’d only learned about them when Mick had pointed them out before the event. She wouldn’t even recognize a key for them if she had one. Had Old Mick had others? She should check the drawers both in the pub and back at her house to see if there were any more kicking around. But that was kind of shutting the barn door after the horse was long gone.

In any case, if Aidan had had a key for some mysterious reason and had let himself in, either for some illegal purpose or just to crash for a few hours, that still didn’t shed any light on how he’d died.

She checked her watch: past eleven. Almost Leap’s “rush hour,” if the people attending Mass constituted traffic. Maura knew it was the only time that the big parking lot in front of the church was anywhere near filled, and even then, not every week. She would normally open at twelve thirty, the legal time, and after the night’s festivities, she expected something of a flood when Mass was over today. How long would it take for news of Aidan Crowley’s death to spread and draw still more in?

Maura realized they’d all been silent for a couple of minutes, apparently lost in their own thoughts. But time was passing. “So, Sean, we’ll open as usual?”

“Yes, as Sergeant Regan said. As soon as the deceased is gone.”

“Mick, is there anything we need to do to get ready? Thanks for leaving the place in good shape.” Well, except for a body. “I would have hated facing cleanup this morning.”

Mick didn’t comment. He said, “I’ve got to check the kegs—I think I’ll need to swap one out, and better sooner than later.” He vanished behind the bar to the stairs that led to the basement, where the kegs were kept.

“Fine,” she called out as he went.

Maura saw an unmarked van pull up in front of Sullivan’s, and Sean perked up. “That’ll be the coroner. Thanks for the coffee, Maura. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Thanks, Sean,” Maura said to his retreating back as he rushed out the door to join the sergeant. She stayed where she was on the bar stool. She hoped—oh, how she hoped—that the man had died a natural death. But she also should be prepared for bad news on that front, and she’d better sort out what she remembered from the night before while it was still fresh, although she wasn’t sure if the gardaí would want any more information than she’d already given them. But she was troubled by the man’s death, and by the lack of information on how he’d died. If it was a medical condition—the best option—the case would be closed almost before it started. But could it have been something like a drug overdose, something that wouldn’t be obvious? She really wasn’t sure about the role drugs played in this quiet corner of West Cork. Drugs she’d seen plenty of back in Boston, but she hadn’t noticed any signs of them in the pub last night, even in the bathrooms—or any other time, for that matter. No sweet scent of weed, no discarded vials or baggies or syringes—she’d seen lots of those in her time working in bars. Of course, she’d heard that there were new party drugs popping up all the time, and their signs might not be obvious. Would Rose know? Or Jimmy? What about Tim? Still, Aidan hadn’t looked like the type to use party drugs. If anything, maybe he’d taken something just to give him a boost for the session last night, and it had been too much for him. Maybe she was willfully blind, but she wanted to believe that the people who had shown up the night before, most of them middle-aged, had truly just come for the music. Maybe she really did hope that in coming to Ireland she’d stepped into a simpler way of life. She knew she didn’t want to be disillusioned.

The transfer of the body was accomplished quickly, and she watched as the van made a U-turn and headed back toward Cork and the university hospital where the morgue was. Sean gave her a quick salute through the window, then he and the sergeant departed in their respective cars, Sean following the coroner, the sergeant headed back to Skibbereen. The street directly in front of Sullivan’s was empty again, save for the church-bound traffic.

Rose and Jimmy Sweeney came in shortly before twelve. “Amazin’ last night, wasn’t it?” Jimmy said, still riding high. “I remember some of the lads, I do, from back in my younger days. Rosie here, her lot don’t have the same kind of experience, like. It’s all on the YouTube now.”

“Did you enjoy it, Rose?” Maura asked, stalling. She hadn’t had time to figure out how she was going to tell them what had happened, though she knew she had to tell them something.

“I did. It’s nice to see all the old people enjoyin’ themselves,” Rose said, struggling to keep a straight face. Jimmy made a rude noise but didn’t say anything. “And the musicians! They were older still—’tis a wonder they were still standing at the end of the evening.”

Not all of them were
. Maura took a deep breath. “There was a little problem here, after we closed up.”

“And what would that be?” Jimmy asked, turning to stare at Maura, troubled by her tone.

There was no way to sugarcoat it. “It seems that one of the musicians came in last night after Mick had locked up and left. He, uh, died in the back room. I found him this morning.”

Her bald statement brought incredulous stares from Jimmy and Rose. Finally Jimmy managed to choke out, “Who?”

Maura watched his face as she answered, “Aidan Crowley.”

Jimmy’s expression gave nothing away. “I think I’ve heard the name, but I wouldn’t know him to his face. Is he still . . . ?”

“No. I called the gardaí, and they took him to Cork for a postmortem. They said we could open, but I promised we wouldn’t use the back room again until they said we could. Rose, are you okay with being here today, after . . . ?”

“Sure. I’m sorry he’s dead, and that he died here, but I didn’t know him. And I guess I won’t. What happened?”

“I don’t know. The gardaí couldn’t say. Nothing obvious. Keep your fingers crossed that it was natural causes.” Maura thought about mentioning the key, but decided it might be smart to hold that back. If the gardaí wanted to mention it to Jimmy, let them talk to him themselves.

“Who else knows about the dead fella?” Jimmy demanded.

“Mick. Now you and Rose. Nobody else has been by. So if someone comes in talking about the death, ask them how they found out, will you? The coroner’s van was out front here, but not for long. I don’t know how many people will have seen it, but it’s not marked.” It occurred to Maura that she should talk with Tim. He’d been part of the group talking to Aidan Crowley on Friday night, and possibly last night. She hadn’t mentioned Tim to the gardaí, but there was no need to unless the death was . . . not natural. She still shied away from putting that idea into words, even in her thoughts. “Rose, was Tim still here when you left?”

“If he was, he was in the back. I never saw him leave, but I left with me da well short of midnight. I didn’t talk with him much, we were that busy. But he was having a grand time watching all the old ones play in the back.”

Nervously Maura checked her watch again: nearly opening time. If it hadn’t been for poor Aidan, she would have been looking forward to opening today, to hear what people had thought of the night’s event and to begin to get a sense of whether it was worth doing again or even making a regular thing. It had been good, hadn’t it? Was it ruined now, for good?

At twelve thirty she sighed and told Jimmy, “We might as well open up.” He walked over and unlocked the door. Billy was already there waiting, his face turned to the sun, and Maura was reminded of Bridget, who sought the sun’s rays in the same way. Old bones seeking warmth. “Come in, Billy, and I’ll get the fire going,” Maura said.

Billy stepped into the room, then stopped, studying everyone’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Maura sighed. Was the man fey? At least there was no one else around to overhear. “I found Aidan Crowley dead in the back room this morning.”

Billy automatically crossed himself. “What was it took him?” he asked.

It took Maura a moment to work out what Billy meant: Aidan had been taken from life by something—or someone. “We don’t know for sure yet. The gardaí have been and gone, and Sean Murphy said he’d let us know what happened, after the postmortem. Did you talk to Aidan last night?”

“I did, but not for long. He was one of the regulars, long ago. Never stood out, but you could count on him. Was it his bad heart?”

“He had a heart problem?” Maura asked, surprised and immediately relieved. A heart problem was a legitimate—if sad—reason for him to have passed away peacefully. Nothing to do with her or Sullivan’s.

“He was born with a weak heart, which kept him from any heavy work. Never stood in the way of his music, but he seldom had two pennies to rub together. Poor man. Most people who knew the man would know of it, but not likely a stranger.”

“Did he have any particular friends? Or did he come with someone last night?”

“I can’t say. He was a friend of Niall’s, of course, but there were so many people crowded in here, I couldn’t see my own feet. It was a great night, right enough. Good to hear the old sounds in this place.”

“It was,” Maura agreed. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but do you have any idea where Aidan was staying?” Assuming, of course, he hadn’t sneaked into Sullivan’s on Friday night as well and found a corner to sleep in without Maura’s knowledge.

“That I don’t,” Billy replied.

“You ready for yer pint now, Billy?” Rose asked.

Billy settled himself heavily in his chair, while Maura set to work building a small turf fire. “After such sad news, I’m in sore need of one, love. Thank you fer askin’.”

Maura finished laying the fire, then stood up and dusted off her hands. “Will we be seeing the players here again today?”

“Not to play, I’ll wager, but they might stop by to see how the folks liked it.”

“Do most of them live around here, or did they have to travel to get here?” Maura asked.

“Some of both, I’m guessing. Ah, Rose, a thousand thanks.” Billy accepted the brimming pint that Rose held out to him.

Maura went back behind the bar, but looked up when a shadow crossed in front of her window. It was Niall Cronin, who opened the door and stepped in just as Maura’s mobile phone started ringing in her pocket. She checked the display: Sean. Did she want to answer it? She could pretend she hadn’t heard it and delay what might well be bad news just a little longer. But in the end she turned her back on the room and hit the button.

“Sean? You have something?”

“I do. Yer man did die of a heart attack . . .”
Just like Billy said,
Maura thought, relieved. But Sean was still talking. “Signs point to it being someone’s hands around his neck that brought it on. The bruises didn’t show right off.”

“Oh, no,” Maura said without thinking. “Can you tell me anything more?”

“No time now, and little to add. I’ll be back in a bit. Try to keep things quiet, will you?”

“Of course. No one’s here yet. Well, Billy is, and Niall just came in, but that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Maura. I’ll see you later.”

“Good-bye, Sean,” Maura said to a dead phone. She slipped it into her pocket and turned to face the others. Her eyes flickered to Niall, who was standing indecisively in the middle of the room, as if trying to decide whether to stay or to go. The others were watching her, waiting for an update. She shook her head, not daring to say anything more.

Then she turned to Niall and summoned up a professional smile. “Good morning to you. Everyone had a great time last night. Can I get you something now?”

Niall finally came over to the bar and sat on a stool. “Have you seen Aidan Crowley?”